Creation of God
Gentle angel, slowly
turning as a shadowed sundial
Rotating in a
breathless, breezeless room of finality
Taut on an umbilical
cord for his chosen rendezvous
Shrouded, as a cold
statue, by a flag of loved passion
A precious eternal soul,
hovering below his Maker’s feet
His dark, deaf head,
Demonised by life’s grieved mysteries
That plague and lusts
on voiceless innocence, as his
A perfect prayer to a
beautifully brave, exhausted dead boy
For Annabel
15th January 2012
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